


Go With The Flow

by robotboy



Series: Flying Blind [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Shower Sex, a microdose of angst because it's me, in a series but can stand alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: Din Djarin takes a much-needed shower, and Cobb Vanth joins him.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Series: Flying Blind [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698328
Comments: 44
Kudos: 433





	Go With The Flow

At first, he blamed the itch on the heat. Din rode through the canyon, the high of victory wearing off and the reality of a long speeder journey setting in. The back of his neck prickled, and he threw a glance at the kid in the saddlebag. He was safe, and the armour was still secure. Din gritted his teeth and drove out of the canyon’s mouth.

The wind on the open dunes was enough to buffet the bike. It nudged him towards Mos Pelgo. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, his nerves tense and tingling. Sunshine beat down on the back of his neck, prompting a fresh burst of sweat to accompany the sour damp of cooling adrenaline. Only it wasn’t cooling: it was starting to burn.

Din took one hand off the speeder to loosen his cowl, and the bike swooped left. He snatched the handlebar again, course-correcting as the child squealed. His hands were getting clammy under the gloves, pinpricks jabbing between his fingers.

He jerked the bike to a halt. His cape whipped around him, forming a shelter from the wind as he tugged a glove free. A harsh red was blooming on his hand, bumps raising along the inside of his wrist. Din swore sharply, flexing his fingers and willing away the urge to scratch. The noxious bile inside the beast must have soaked through his clothing: now he was aware of it, he could feel it wriggling into his joints. He shoved the glove back on and urged the bike toward Mos Pelgo. In the precious minutes, he racked his brains for what the Tuskens used as an antidote.

The Weequay was standing outside the cantina when Din skidded the bike to a halt.

‘Did you—?’

‘Water!’ Din interrupted. ‘You got running water?’

‘Yeah, out the back,’ the Weequay jerked his thumb. ‘Does your…?’

Din sprinted past him, wrestling off his jetpack first. He still wasn’t used to the weight of it. The pipe behind the cantina was sheltered by a few sheets of metal forming a large cubicle, with a grille laid over the dirt to keep the worst of the mud off. Din cranked it on without a moment’s hesitation, letting the water cough a few grimy spurts as he peeled off his gloves.

The chill brought instant relief. He worked the webbing between his fingers, still raw but no longer burning. The water ran clear and soothed the worst of it away, giving him enough dexterity to start on the other layers. There wasn’t time to be cautious: his beskar was tossed in a pile until only the helmet remained. Next he removed the cowl, cool water streaming over the irritated skin of his throat. The cape’s sopping weight was a relief to toss aside, then the tunic and undershirt. He wrung the clothes out: the dragon’s bile didn’t appear to have damaged the weave.

His chest was flushed where the cuirass had rubbed the contaminated fabric into his skin. He used the bundled-up shirt as a washcloth, working gently to scoop any residual grime from his collarbones and underarms. The sensation made him shiver: it had been long enough since he’d used a sonic, let alone a real shower. He unbuckled his belt, letting the rest of his gear drop heavily to the ground as he stepped out of it. His upper body had caught the worst of the damage: he sloughed himself clean, naked but for the helmet. It was more recklessness than he could afford in a place like this, but exhaustion won over caution. For a moment he was still, letting the water gush down his spine.

He had come to this place hoping to find companionship. Someone else who wore the armour, maybe even someone to help him care for the child. What he’d found was an impostor, another grave, and a monster with copious quantities of corrosive saliva. He sighed, bracing his forearms on the wall of the cantina and arching his back to rinse it.

‘I said I wanted to see you again,’ drawled a familiar voice. ‘Didn’t think it’d be so soon.’

Din’s catching breath was drowned out by the gurgle of the pipe. His head whipped in the direction of Vanth’s voice: a streak of red was visible around the corner of the cubicle. Vanth kept his back turned in deference to Din’s modesty.

‘You’ll want this,’ Vanth crouched, rolling a bottle along the ground towards Din. ‘Saw one of the Tuskens treating their wounds with it.’

Din uncorked it, tilting his head up to sniff. It was some kind of balm, he guessed: a drizzle on the back of his hand brought the last of the lingering itch to a halt.

‘Thanks,’ he said. He worked up a lather of it, slathering himself quickly.

‘Save some for me,’ Vanth said. ‘We’ll have to wash these clothes, after.’

Din sighed. He knew it was necessary, but he wasn’t looking forward to the ordeal of borrowing spares.

‘There’s an old cloak in the cantina,’ Vanth seemed to guess his concern. ‘Is it just a helmet thing, or is it showing any skin?’

Din deliberated. What was one more compromise, after a long day of brokering them for everyone else?

‘The helmet,’ he answered.

‘I always wanted to ask, you know,’ Vanth mused. ‘I knew I wasn’t wearing it right.’

Din snorted at the understatement. The armour had hung so poorly from Vanth’s slender frame, but the way he’d fought like an extension of Din, flying so intuitively—he’d probably owned a jetpack for longer than Din himself.It was everything the Creed spoke of: a shared trust and prowess in battle. In the heat of the moment Din had fooled himself with the illusion of a slitted visor looking back at him. When he’d thought he wasn’t coming out of the dragon, maybe he’d wondered if the kid would trust the battered green helmet enough that Vanth could raise him. That Vanth cared enough about the armour he’d stumbled across to carry on Din’s quest.

‘You wore it okay,’ he admitted.

Another admission he had to make: the tickling feeling between his shoulders wasn’t just Vanth’s presence.

‘Hey,’ he gritted out. ‘You using this after me?’

‘If there’s water left,’ Vanth chuckled.

‘Could you…?’ Din swallowed, steeling his will. ‘I can’t reach a spot.’

‘Sure,’ Vanth spoke lightly, as if it was nothing. Maybe it was, to him.

Vanth was already peeling off his shirt as he stepped into the cubicle. He tossed it next to Din’s gear, stripping quickly and confidently. Under the cover of the visor, Din could stare at the tanned skin and the collection of scars that Vanth revealed. He was sinewy, better suited to a lighter set of armour. Bright brown eyes flashed at Din’s visor, as though he could sense the assessing gaze—Din told himself it was assessing.

When Vanth was naked, Din proffered the shirt he’d bundled up.

‘Probably still contaminated,’ Vanth wrinkled his nose. ‘Here.’

He fished out the neckerchief, holding it under the water and wringing it out. With a gesture, he turned Din around.

Din held himself still, trying to remember that Vanth was looking for leftover suds, not the body underneath. The silence went a fraction too long, punctuated by a click of Vanth’s tongue.

‘There it is,’ Vanth started at Din’s shoulder, a flash of red in his peripheral vision. So Din wouldn’t startle at the touch, he realised.

The cloth swiped slowly toward Din’s spine, easing away the last of the prickling. The balm left his skin cool and slick, even as Vanth rinsed it away.

‘He got you good,’ Vanth murmured.

Din’s heart kicked when a bare hand slid over his skin. Vanth splayed his fingers, rinsing away the lather and checking for any remaining irritation. He was thorough, but not quite methodical: Din couldn’t predict the slide down, the drag up, the curling grip that almost found its way around his waist to catch the shallowness of his breathing.

It occurred to Din, belatedly, that their intuitive chemistry might have potential off the battlefield as well.

‘You, uh…’ Vanth’s voice was low, close to the helmet. Din shifted back, only a hair’s breadth, until his shoulder brushed Vanth’s chest. ‘You gonna use all the water?’

‘No,’ Din felt the flush rise in his chest as he stepped aside. Vanth’s hand lingered, though, a brief dig of fingers on Din’s hip to keep him from running away. Din remained close enough to appreciate the misty spray.

‘You’re gonna want me to get that cloak,’ Vanth guessed. ‘You good with waiting?’

‘I’m good,’ Din said thickly.

Vanth ducked under the flow of the pipe, stretching on the balls of his feet and running his fingers through his hair. He grinned, scrubbing his face in his hands and stretching expansively. It was an open invitation for Din to admire him, confirmed by the slide of dark eyes in Din’s direction. Water dripped off his beard, and he shook it dry.

He didn’t have to ask Din for the bottle: Din was already reaching for it. Din told himself not to startle at a hand brushing his as he passed it to Vanth: the sensation was rare enough that it was worth savouring.

‘Damn thing got my leg,’ Vanth twisted to rub balm into his thigh. He was flexible, Din noticed, but the position would be easier with help. He stepped in, trusting Vanth to speak up if the aid was unwelcome. But Vanth straightened, letting Din lean down to lather the tender skin, following the pattern of light hair slicked into whorls.

‘Just your leg?’ Din asked, keeping his voice steady. The rash came to Vanth’s inner thigh, and Din followed it. The position brought them face-to-visor, Din intimately aware of the few inches of height Vanth had on him. Surely Vanth could reach this himself, if he wanted to.

‘Well, it didn’t try to digest me,’ Vanth gave a half-shrug.

‘The plan worked,’ Din pointed out. He was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Vanth, a different kind of heat. A tilt of Din’s wrist and he’d be touching a lot more than Vanth’s thigh. Vanth’s eyes twinkled, searching Din’s visor like he knew.

‘The way you fought out there,’ Din spoke softly, almost too low to be heard over the pipe. ‘You could…’

Vanth shifted closer, intrigued. Din began to move his hand away, but fingers caught his wrist, nudging it back into place. Vanth’s cock stirred against Din’s knuckles.

‘Could what?’ Vanth prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Din took a heavy, staggering breath: he couldn’t conceal his surprise, or the effect it was having on him—not if Vanth decided to look down.

‘Do this somewhere different,’ he said. ‘If that’s what you wanted.’

Vanth pressed his lips together, as if he were considering. When Din’s fingers curled around his cock, his lashes fluttered. The tilt of his hips gave away the real offer in Din’s words.

‘You know…’ Vanth tilted the bottle with his free hand, spilling the balm generously down his abdomen. ‘I don’t think the Tuskens wanted this back.’

Din noticed the change of subject, but didn’t make an issue of it. If he was getting weak-kneed for a man who’d only worn the helmet as a scavenger, it was better if this didn’t continue. Smarter to get what they wanted and move on.

He shivered when a drip of balm landed on his waist, tingling strangely with an old scar beside his navel. The cooling sensation was a welcome contrast to the desert heat. Vanth tossed the bottle aside, letting it land in the sand. He leaned back, a serpentine movement that drew Din with him, until his back was pressed against the wall and Din was pressed against his front. He was getting harder in Din’s grip. A gasp fell from his lips as Din stroked curiously. His throat bobbed around a swallow, head tilting back. He was holding Din’s hips with both hands: it was almost possessive with the span of his reach.

Din swiped through the mess of balm between them, slicking his hand. His own cock hung thick and heavy, but he wouldn’t stoop to asking Vanth for a hand. He didn’t have to: Vanth thrust his thigh between Din’s. Din gasped, grinding into him, while Vanth pulled Din closer to squeeze his ass. A long finger slipped between Din’s cheeks, stroking along the cleft and making him shudder. The brashness of it, matched with the mischief in Vanth’s eye, made Din’s pulse skip.

It was impossible not to think about the girth of Vanth’s cock compared to the tapered finger nudging Din’s rim. Vanth shoved into Din’s hand, urging him on. Din was fascinated by the rise and fall of his chest, the reddening tinge of his lip where it was trapped between his teeth. He stroked faster, savouring the way it made Vanth grasp him tight enough to bruise. Din was relentless, finding the rhythm that made Vanth’s hips piston, crowding him until the wall was taking most of his weight.

Vanth whimpered. His fingers curled, blunt nails dragging across the flesh of Din’s ass in warning. Din only quickened his pace, chasing the noises Vanth was making. An expression of surprise crossed his face, lips moving in a struggle to form words, but he was too close to the edge. Vanth came with a shudder, cock pulsing between their bodies. His head tipped forward, bumping gently against the dome of Din’s helmet. A warm fog of breath bloomed on the visor. Din’s heart thundered.

Then Vanth dropped, sinking to his knees in a fluid movement. Din was left blinking at the wall, so distracted by the souvenir of Vanth’s breath on his helmet that he didn’t realise what was happening. At least, not until Vanth’s warm, wet mouth was on his cock.

He bit back a groan, while Vanth’s flushed lips dragged over the shaft and curled around the head. Din leaned one forearm on the wall so he could watch—and so he wouldn’t collapse.

Vanth stole a glance up, squinting against the water that dripped on his face, then wrapped a hand around the root of Din’s cock and took the rest into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed, and the pressure was so intense Din grunted in shock. He felt Vanth smiling at that, pleased at having pleased Din. Din brought a quivering hand to Vanth’s hair, raking it back, and Vanth preened as he bobbed his head, tongue rubbing Din’s cock.

It took all Din’s strength to keep still, to stop himself thrusting down Vanth’s throat, then Vanth’s hand was sneaking between Din’s thighs to clutch his ass again—Din stood no chance. Din pushed and Vanth swallowed, unleashing a groan that rumbled around Din’s cock. Din tugged Vanth’s hair, his knees buckling as his vision whited out. Vanth’s throat worked him through the blinding orgasm that left Din crumpled against the wall, cupping Vanth’s cheek as his cock finally slipped free.

Vanth smiled as bright as sunshine, clambering unsteadily to his feet. He stepped into the weakening flow of the pipe, rinsing the last of the suds from his body. He was somehow more languid in the aftermath, stretching his jaw with a wry expression.

‘You’ll be wanting that cloak,’ he said.

Din nodded weakly.

‘I’ll wait outside,’ Vanth said, and stepped out of the cubicle without a stitch of clothing.

It took Din a moment to catch Vanth’s inference. The helmet. With a cautious glance at the gap between the walls, Din slipped it off his head. He wiped the last of the muck from its crevices, listening to the Weequay bemoaning Vanth’s unexpected exhibitionism.

Still trembling, he brought his head under the water. It streamed through his hair, cooling his flushed cheeks and clinging to his eyelashes. He gasped, a stream clinging to his lips before trickling over his chin, inhaling the sharp Tatooine air before a drip fell from the tip of his nose. He swiped his hands quickly over his face, stepping back to shake the worst of the damp from his hair. It wasn’t much, but Vanth had bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

He had the helmet back on before Vanth’s running commentary indicated he was back outside. Din reached out of the cubicle to take the proffered cloak, while Vanth had been gifted a dish towel that barely protected anything. Din’s skepticism must have been clear as he stepped out. Vanth shrugged.

‘The sun will do the rest,’ he said, and it was true.

Din drew the cloak carefully around himself, keeping the wind from tugging the hem.

‘Your clothes’ll need to soak,’ Vanth looked at the horizon while he spoke. ‘Mine too.’

‘Right,’ Din nodded.

Vanth shaded his eyes with his hand. ‘You got anywhere to wait until they’re dry?’

Din cocked his head. ‘You got a suggestion?’

‘My place isn’t far,’ Vanth said. ‘You could teach me some of those…’

He gestured in a rough approximation of Tusken hand signs.

Din nodded, and Vanth slipped back into the cubicle. He emerged with their clothes gathered in a bundle. He’d left Din’s armour untouched: Din went to collect it himself, holding it tight to his chest.

‘Did you see my kid?’ Din asked.

‘Yeah, he was playing on the porch,’ Vanth answered. ‘Did you put him in the helmet?’

‘No,’ Din snorted. ‘Must’ve done it himself.’

‘I think it might be his, now,’ Vanth smiled.

‘You gonna miss it?’ Din asked. He shouldn’t have asked.

‘Blaster-proof headgear?’ Vanth raised an eyebrow. _‘Yeah,_ I’m gonna miss it.’

There was something on the tip of Din’s tongue. He didn’t know what it was, or how to get it out of the helmet. It wasn’t like the tingling under his skin that he’d felt since meeting Vanth: that had disappeared in the shower, to be replaced by this. Something he’d never finished asking.

A lingering trickle of water crept from his hairline to slip across his cheek. He shivered, but in the blinding Tatooine sun, Vanth didn’t notice.

**Author's Note:**

> I have [more marshmando fics here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=49111432&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&fandom_id=31516237&user_id=robotboy) and you can check my works page for lots more Star Wars fic.


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